The Entirely Not Evil Journal of Ginny Weasley
by TimeIsGalleons
Summary: Ginny keeps a journal - not diary, of course - of her life at the Burrow the summer before her fifth year. Includes Harry Potter, Tickling Powder, and a heaping helping of humiliation. Rated T for safety, but it's more of a K.
1. Tremendous Tickling Powder

**A/N: **Okay, before you all immediately _Avada Kedavra _me for writing this instead of updating _An Army of Our Own_, hear me out. I _am _working on the second chapter right now. It'll most likely be updated sometime next week. I'm currently going through and writing an entire plot outline for the rest of the story and it's taking a little bit of time. This story is what I'll be using to take breaks whenever working on the more serious one gets difficult. I'll be working on them both equally. So enjoy this more humorous fic.

Oh, and I know this idea has been used Merlin knows how many times, but I wanted to take a shot at it.

All is true to canon in book six aside from the fact that Hermione arrives at the Burrow later in the summer than Harry, and Fred and George don't go to live in their shop until two days after Harry's arrival.

**Disclaimer: **I'll own Harry Potter when Ron adopts an acromantula.

_**July 5**__**th**__** 2:42 AM**_

Why, hello, you charming little notebook, you. Due to my recent bout of insomnia causing me to wake up at this ungodly hour, I happened to find you chilling out on my desk. Therefore, you are going to become my new journal.

No, you are not a diary. If you were a diary, I would shove a basilisk fang into you.

Repeatedly.

In numerous places.

For an extended period of time.

Long story short, you're not a diary. So don't argue with me.

_**2:53 AM**_

It just dawned on me that you haven't the faintest idea who I am. So allow me to introduce myself.

I'm Ginevra Molly Weasley. Ginny, to you, unless you'd like about fifty flapping bat bogeys attacking your face. Which I can't see why you would unless you have some jumped up bogey fetish.

_**2:55AM**_

In case you ever get the impression from what I write in here that I happen to pine for my brother's best mate, let me tell you right off the broomstick that you're wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Harry Potter is a scrawny little git.

With wonderful green eyes, by the way. Not the gross kind of green; you and your bogey fetish wouldn't like them. They look like…oh Merlin; I'm not even going there.

Nothing like fresh pickled toads if that's what you're thinking.

_**3:05 AM**_

Speaking of the completely _not_ amazingly attractive Boy Who Lived, he's arriving here tomorrow to stay for the rest of the summer. Hence, why I'm currently writing in a stupid little journal instead of sleeping. The fact that he can keep me awake when he's not even _here_ is more than a little troubling.

Wait. I think I just heard something in my closet. It was like a tappy, rattly, creepy kind of noise.

Oh no.

Lord Voldemort is tap dancing in my closet.

_**3:30 AM**_

Alright, so the noise in my closet _wasn't_ a tap-dancing Dark Lord. It was one of my more irritating six brothers.

You see, George decided it would be a splendidly corking idea to hide in my closet and fill my clothes with the twins' new invention, Tremendous Tickling Powder, to see if it worked the same on girls as it does with boys.

When I opened my closet door and found him sitting on my school trunk and dumping powder all over my clothes, I screamed. My scream caused him to fall off the trunk and dump the Tickling Powder all over my closet and himself in the process. I immediately pulled my wand off my desk and pointed it straight at his face, fully intending to curse him into next Quidditch season.

Then, because I have the lungs of my mother and anyone who can't hear her scream from within a ten mile radius is either deaf or smart enough to ignore it, the rest of my family came bursting into my room. I think they must have thought I was being attacked or something because they were all panicky and holding their wands. Well, except Ron. He was holding a toothbrush. I will never know why he was brushing his teeth at three in the morning.

Anyway, they came in and found me pointing my wand at George, who was rolling around on the floor of my closet laughing his lungs out under a huge, white cloud of Tickling Powder dust.

_**3:33 AM**_

Mum yelled for approximately ten minutes. We're both grounded for a week.

_**3:34 AM**_

That's right, I got grounded because my idiot brother attempted to infest all my clothes with Tickling Powder in the middle of the night. Where is the _justice_ in this house?

_**3:35 AM**_

Hang on, how can she even ground George for a week? He and Fred are moving into the flat above their joke shop in two days.

So _I'm _the only one getting punished for my brother completely invading my privacy?

That's it. I'm going to attempt to go back to bed in order to have a very detailed dream that may or may not involve George and a huge smelly troll with a very large bat.

_**4:15 AM**_

I give up on going back to sleep. Apparently, Fred and George have yet to finish the antidote for their stupid powder and George is still laughing upstairs while Fred tries to fix what they have of the antidote. He sounds like a duck in labor.

George does, that is. Not Fred.

_**4:17 AM**_

I think I'm going to go bang my head on the wall and see if it knocks me unconscious so I can get some sleep in this blasted house.

_**4:22 AM**_

Ow, ow, _OW._

_**4:30 AM**_

Oh Merlin. Harry Potter is coming here tomorrow and I have absolutely nothing to wear.

_**4:32 AM**_

No. Seriously. It's all filled with Tickling Powder. All I can wear that won't make me laugh until I explode are the pajamas I'm currently in. They're rather loud pajamas, too. They're bright green and have Snitches flying all over them.

No, I did _not_ buy them because I was thinking about Harry Potter, thank you very much.

I happen to like Snitches. And green. Which you should understand.

Bogey lover.

_**4:37 AM**_

I wonder if I sound this irksome when I laugh. Someone would tell me if I had a duck laugh, right?

_**5:03 AM**_

George finally stopped laughing upstairs. I have to admit, Fred works fast. Then again, he sort of had to considering the honking duck laugh would keep him awake even worse than it did me.

_**5:10 AM**_

I wonder if Harry will like my Snitch pajamas.


	2. ASPWL

**A/N: **I really love writing this fic. Usually, trying to get stories just right frustrates me, but this one is just so much fun. I need to write humor more often. Anywho, here's chapter two for you. Sorry for the gap between updates, my Chemistry teacher seems to enjoy flooding me with homework.

**Disclaimer: **I'll own Harry Potter when you find a hat smarter than the Sorting Hat and it eats itself as a result.

_**July 5**__**th**__** 11:26 AM**_

I'm very angry with you. I'm only writing in you right now to tell you that I'm giving you the silent treatment. Starting now.

After I said starting now, I mean. Not while I said it.

And after that last sentence.

And that one.

…this is becoming irksome.

_**11:30 AM**_

Okay, _fine. _I'll tell you what I'm angry about. Only so you know what to feel ashamed of. Not because of my inability to keep quiet, of course.

Alright, so after already being unable to sleep until extremely early this morning (Thank you oh so much, George), I ended up waking up every ten minutes until around nine o'clock. Which was all your fault.

You're journal-ness forced me to have horrible nightmares involving a certain tiny little diary, which kept me up half the night, which made my eyes an utter mess this morning.

Add my red, blotchy, baggy eyes to my bright green Snitch pajamas and the fact that my hair looks even worse than Hermione's before I brush it in the morning, and you have a perfect image of the first thing Harry Potter saw when he walked into our kitchen this morning.

No, wait, it gets even better. I haven't told you his reaction yet.

He snorted. That's right, snorted. Just like a pig.

_**11:32 AM**_

Why are there so many barn animals in this house that seemed to have transferred themselves to the bodies of everyone around me?

First, there's George, the quacking duck man, then there's Harry, the snorting pig, and then, finally, you have Ron who seems to be a bit of any animal that makes sound when he snores.

I hate living on a farm.

_**11:39 AM**_

Isn't it ironic how Harry sounds like a pig, yet he's the skinniest person in the history of ever? I find it rather amusing, actually.

_**11:43 AM**_

Harry Potter: The Anorexic Snorting Pig.

Who Lived.

That sounds much better than the Boy Who Lived. I think I'll refer to him as that from now on. It suits him quite well.

It's a bit of a mouthful, though.

_**11:44 AM**_

Maybe I'll go with ASPWL instead. Pronounced "az-pewl".

_**12:30 PM**_

I'm getting desperately sick of these pajamas. I think I'm going to burn them to bits. I keep seeing one of the Snitches flying over my shoulder and thinking someone's behind me.

See, there goes the blasted thing again.

And again.

And again.

And-

_**12:45 PM**_

I've changed my mind. Burning is not a suitable death for these pajamas. I think I may find a much slower and more painful way of killing them. I could tell Voldemort that I've transfigured Harry Potter into this lovely set of PJ's and that he would be unable to defend himself if attacked in that form.

Or I could throw them in front of Mad-Eye Moody, who will think they're some sort of Dark-and-Dangerous-Holy-Hippogriffs-Killer-Cloth-Pajamas and curse them to pieces.

I kind of like the second one, actually. And not only because the first one would be sort of, you know, deadly.

Could you imagine just strolling up to Lord Voldemort with a silky set of green Snitch pajamas in tow?

_**12:47 PM**_

Right, I got a bit off topic there. Allow me to explain the reasoning behind the approaching death of my pajamas.

Remember how I told you I kept seeing the Snitch over my shoulder and thinking someone was there? Well, what with my amazing luck, someone _did _turn out to be behind me at one point.

Someone who happened to see a bit too much about ASPWL.

_**12:49 PM**_

Harry has requested that I document that he is neither anorexic nor a snorting pig, though he does not deny that he is, in fact, living.

_**12:53 PM**_

Disregard my last entry. I caved under peer pressure from a rather annoying snorting pig with very terrific (un-pickled-toad-like) green eyes who was watching over my shoulder.

At least he didn't read back a couple pages. That would have been more than a little traumatizing.

_**12:57 PM**_

Now that I think on it, writing in my journal at the kitchen table of a house crowded with nosy brothers and friends of said brothers doesn't seem like the smartest of ideas. I should probably take this somewhere a bit more private.

_**1:26 PM**_

Hello, Ginny Weasley here, currently reporting from the linen closet on the third floor of the Burrow, and thinking she should be congratulated on her new hiding spot.

Honestly, I couldn't have come up with a better place if I tried. Mum usually doesn't use this closet too often because there's one a floor down that's easier, and Ron refuses to go anywhere near it because it's jam-packed with spiders.

_**1:28 PM**_

Oh, dear Merlin, there are so many spiders. They're everywhere.

I think there's one crawling in my Hermione hair.

Oh God, what if the unnaturally bushy state my hair is in causes it to be stuck there forever? Then Ron will never come near me again and, because Harry and Ron seem to be attached by some invisible string or something, Harry will never come near me either. Then no one in the world will want to marry me except maybe Aragog or something and then I'll have to move into the Forbidden Forrest so my hair and Aragog can live happily ever after.

I think I've just developed arachnophobia.

_**1:57 PM**_

Why was I ever momentarily arachnophobic? Spiders are the most amazing creatures in the entire world. I think I may just move into the linen closet, it's teeming with my eight-legged amazing friends.

I absolutely adore sarcasm.

That spider in my hair? It was huge. It was the size of Fudge's bowler hat, I swear to Merlin it was. The bloody thing could have swallowed me whole if it felt a bit peckish. Anyway, as I was walking (not running and screaming, just so you know) out of the linen closet and going back to my room, I happened to run into none other than Harry Potter himself in the hallway.

And when I say run into, I mean that literally. That kid seriously needs to learn to look _in front of him_ when he walks, he could hurt someone. Like me.

So, after running headlong into Harry and falling on my arse (by the way, why did he not fall too? I mean honestly, you could knock the kid over with a light breeze, he's so scrawny) he reached down to take my hand to help me up. He stopped pulling me up for a second, though and suddenly said "Er, Gin, there's a spider in your hair the size of my head and it doesn't look very happy."

Naturally, I began to have the biggest spazz attack of my life. I started throwing my arms around and kicking and shaking my head all over the place, all the while squealing like a two-year-old.

I know, I know, I'm amazing at keeping my head in these types of situations. Hold your applause, please.

Anyway, during my giant flailing spazz attack of doom, Harry started grabbing my arms and trying to make me stop freaking out, which I admit, did sort of work a bit, then he reached up, plucked the hairy, humongous, pincer-y, fang-y thing out of my hair, threw it on the ground, and stomped it flat.

My bloody hero.

_**2:00 PM**_

I wonder if there's a room in the Department of Mysteries where they research abnormal humiliation and how it seems to follow certain people.

If there is, I'd bet all the money in my sock drawer (ten Galleons, twelve Sickles, and thirty-two Knuts, in case you're wondering) that I have a whole file cabinet to myself in there.

**A/N: **I'm not as proud of this one as I was of the last chapter. Then again, I'm always a bit hard on myself about my writing. Let me know what you think of it though. I'm bringing Hermione into the next chapter, as well as some of Ginny's thoughts involving Bill and Phle – I mean – Fleur.

Review and you may be rewarded with some rather fetching green Snitch pajamas. I hear there's someone trying to get rid of a pair.


	3. Dust Bunnies from Hell

**A/N: **I'm incredibly sorry it took me so long to update this. I sat down and tried to finish it about fifty times, I could just never get it the way I wanted it. The writer's block I've been suffering lately has been horrible.

I know you hate long rambling author's notes (or you just skip them altogether, which I don't blame you for, I do the same thing) but I wanted to say in this one that I really appreciate the reviews and messages I'm getting on this story. Especially the ones by Mrs. Ferb Fletcher and ErynPotter, both of whom have been openly anxious for me to update this. Also, Eryn, you don't have to kidnap and keep her hostage, here's an update, see? Take off the ski mask and put down the rope. All is well. Oh, and I love you guys. Thank you.

Also, I got a question about how long this will end up being and it will definitely fan out to be at least ten chapters. Maybe more, depending on how things work out.

Now, enough of this nonsense. Time for the story.

**Disclaimer: **I'll own Harry Potter when Hermione asks to borrow Luna's radish earrings.

_**July 6**__**th**__** 10:57 A.M.**_

You'll never guess who got nine blissful, beautiful hours of sleep last night without a single interruption from her battalion of irritating brothers.

That was a challenge, by the way. You can guess now.

…did you guess? Only it's a bit hard to tell considering you're an inanimate object and all.

Oh, fine, I'll just come out and tell you. It was me.

_**11:02 A.M.**_

I never realized how comfortable my bed was. It doesn't do that annoying thing Ron's does and poke you in the back with its springs.

Is it awkward that I know what Ron's bed feels like? Because I swear I never went in there and slept in it with him during thunderstorms when I was six.

What? I didn't.

I was five.

_**11:06 A.M.**_

I think I'll just lie in this bed all day. Then I won't have to worry about wearing these pajamas for the second consecutive day in a row or humiliating myself in front of my brother's best friend.

Also, I'm quite lazy and am not looking forward to removing the Tickling Powder from all the clothes I own.

_**11:09 A.M.**_

Blast. I just remembered Hermione's arriving here today. The Girl Who Thinks Relaxation is a Crime will never let me lay here all day. She'll hover on the other side of the room doing all her summer work for the fiftieth time over and make angry hissing noises at me the whole time. She sounds like Crookshanks sometimes when she gets all irritated like that.

Great. Yet another animal to add to the farm that is the Burrow.

Hold on a moment. There's a weird wet, slappy kind of noise coming from my door. I swear, if it's Fred or George again I'll use vast amounts of underage magic to Bat-Bogey them all the way to their new flat.

_**11:25 A.M. Currently disgusted out of my mind and hiding under my bed. **_

Bleck, when was the last time I cleaned down here? The dust bunnies are literally hopping all over the place. It's actually cute in an odd revolting sort of way.

Speaking of revolting things, let me give you a bit of a tip if you're ever snogging someone, say your cow of a fiancée, and are looking for a bit of privacy.

Tip #1: When attempting to find solace in a house jam packed with people, check that the bedroom you are going into is _empty _before entering it.

Tip #2: I know it's difficult to save the snogging until you're entirely sure of your solitude but please, _for the love of Merlin_, do NOT enter a room full on going at it.

Tip #3: Okay, this isn't a tip. More of a plea for common decency. If your name starts with a B and rhymes with kill, do not, under any circumstance, enter the bedroom of your little sister while snogging quite possibly the most horrendous person on the planet besides Voldemort himself.

Hmm. I wonder if it would have damaged my innocent little mind any less if Bill _had _been snogging Voldemort instead of Phlegm.

Ugh, now I'm picturing it. It still makes me want to vomit, but marginally less so than the scene I just witnessed.

I need mental help.

Let me go into a tad more detail in case you're a bit lost.

I was sitting here lying in my bed and writing like a good little innocent (don't you scoff at me) girl, when suddenly my door bursts open Bill and Phlegm fall through the door with their faces stuck together at the lips, seemingly by a Permanent Sticking Charm.

Understandably, I fell of my bed in surprise and the gits didn't even notice. I could've broken a limb or something and all my big brother cares about is how long he can snog Phlegm senseless without breathing.

In case you're curious, he lasted about a minute before I started screaming and shoving them out of my room.

Mum _will _buy me a lock for my door. I will not rest until she does.

_**11:36 A.M.**_

It really is quite filthy down here. I know I don't have much room to complain since Mum usually cleans my room, but I think these dust bunnies have developed individual personalities. They have little bunny cliques all over the underside of my bed.

There are three of them near my foot that remind me oddly of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Two of them look a bit like their arguing. The bigger of the two is sort of hopping like he's about to take off into space or something and his eyes are all narrowed. The little one he's arguing with just pretty much looks pissed off and keeps staring at him like she might throttle his little bunny throat if he doesn't cut it out.

The third one isn't really trying to stop them, but he's not exactly ignoring them either. He's watching and he looks a little bit exasperated, like he's bloody sick of his two bunny friends fighting and would like nothing more than to use a little bit of dust bunny voodoo to make them act civil towards each other. I think out of all the bunnies down here, including the two by the far left bedpost who keep throwing discarded candy wrappers at the two nuzzling each other by one of my socks, he's my favorite. He's definitely the cutest and the little frown on his face while he's watching the other two squabble almost makes me want to pick him up and hug him.

Can you hug dust bunnies without them exploding in a huge cloud of dust?

_**11:38 A.M.**_

No. No you cannot.

_**11:42 A.M.**_

Well, this is just bloody terrific. Not only am I still stuck in these horrid pajamas, but they're covered in the remains of the cutest dust bunny in existence. Er, well, _formerly _in existence, I suppose I should say. Poor little guy. I'll have to give him a funeral once I wash him out of my clothes.

Oh, uhm, this could be potentially problematic. Looks like the dust bunny's two little friends are less than happy about me killing their mate with my affectionate behavior. They actually look quite….angry.

_**12:05 P.M. **_

I seem to recall writing in this journal earlier this morning that I would avoid, at all costs, humiliating myself in front of one Harry Potter today.

_Ha. _

This is becoming ridiculous. I'm serious, is there a curse on me? Have I been cursed? Maybe I got hit by something in the Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago that makes me do at least one traumatizingly embarrassing thing per day? That's the only explanation I can think of for Hermione Granger strolling into my room to find me being attacked by vengeful dust bunnies.

Before you mock how weak I am for not being able to take on a few little blobs of dust, I'd advise you to go irk a magical dust bunny and see how difficult it is to fight them. You'd be shocked.

See, the two that were previously arguing were pretty cunning little gits. The one that reminds me even more of Ron than he did before started hopping about all over my face and making me sneeze like mad with all the dust coming off of him while the other one, who shares more similarities than I'd like to write down with Hermione, proceeded to rip and tear pieces of my ghastly pajamas off of my body.

Eventually, I thrashed around enough to kick the Hermione-bunny into the bed post and cause her to explode into yet another cloud of little bunny dust.

Now, if you've ever met Ron and Hermione, you know that if you so much as tell Hermione she has a hair out of place, Ron will no less than rip your head off. These bunnies seemed to be from the same mold. The little Ron bunny, obviously very ticked that I was the reason his best bunny-mate and bunny-girlfriend was reduced to nothing more than flecks of dust on the underside of my bed, started jumping on my face so wildly I had a moment where I sincerely wondered if it was possible for a person to sneeze themselves to death.

It was absolutely horrid. My throat was sore, my eyes were watering from the combination of overactive sinuses and dust flying into them, and I was sneezing so loudly and violently the sound was comparative to Fred's incessant duck laughs.

_**12:15 P.M. **_

See what I did there? Stopped writing for ten whole minutes to keep you in suspense whilst you wondered how I escaped an angry dust bunny's revenge?

Alright, fine, my hand was sore from writing that entire paragraph. Plus, I went downstairs to sneak a bagel to eat in my room. Mum would go ballistic about the crumbs if she found out, but there's no way I'm sitting in the kitchen to eat it. With the luck I've been enjoying lately, I'd slip on a speck of dirt on the floor and fly ten feet across the room just when Harry would decide to go to the kitchen for a glass of water or some other nonsense and plow straight into him, sending the both of us into the hallway where Fred and George would be standing, packing the lot of the Tickling Powder that is currently saturating all the clothes in my closet to take to the new flat above their joke shop in Diagon Alley. Then, if that run-on sentence wouldn't be enough as it was, Harry and I would fly straight into the vat of Powder and the whole thing would be a giant, powdery, giggly mess.

Still, though, the whole suspense thing was an added bonus.

_**12:19 P.M.**_

Right, so where was I before all that? I was a sneezing mess of utter hell, correct? Okay, good.

So, while my sinuses were exploding, Hermione had apparently arrived downstairs and she, Harry, and Ron were gathering her suitcases and bags to bring upstairs to my room.

Now, let me just explain something: I am not a quiet sneezer. If you can recall how loud my shrieking is, you can just imagine how loud it gets when I sneeze too much. I once sneezed at midnight and Ron yelled "Bless you!" from his bedroom in the attic.

No, I'm not joking.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that, when Hermione heard me sneezing my lungs and other vital organs out, she panicked, thought I was hurt, dropped the heavy suitcase she was carrying on Ron's foot, and sprinted up the stairs to help me. While Ron was being a massive baby and whining about his crushed toe, Harry had also dropped the bag of Hermione's books he was carrying, successfully smashing the toes on Ron's _other _foot and ran off after her.

Or, at least, that's what I think happened. Hermione was laughing so hard when she explained it to me it was hard to make out between all her obnoxious, snorting laughter.

_**12:27 P.M.**_

Alright, _fine_ Hermione doesn't snort when she laughs. She also needs to lose this habit of looking over people's shoulders when they're writing. Honestly, I don't understand how Harry and Ron can write any essays with her around hissing corrections in their ears like an angry serpent.

_**12:29 P.M.**_

No, Hermione, I'm not changing that either. Now go work on the tenth draft of your Charms summer work and stop snooping on me. Aren't you a prefect? Shouldn't you be a bit more honorable than this? What is the world coming to when we can't even trust our prefects to show us lesser beings how to mind our own business?

Ha, I won. She's scribbling a small novel on a piece of parchment at my desk now and, even though I'm pretty positive she's going to deny it later, she's trying her damndest not to smile.

Oh, blast, I got off subject again, didn't I? Er, violent Ron-bunny, extensive sneezing, utter humiliation…right…

When we left off, Ron was crying like a mandrake on the staircase and clutching his feet and Harry and Hermione were running like all hell to save me from a homicidal dust bunny suffering from severe grief over the loss of his two best bunny friends.

Meanwhile, the two extremely mischievous dust bunnies who had been previously occupied with throwing the plethora of sweet wrappers under my bed at the lovebunnies in the corner, had decided to join in on the Ron-bunny's fun and started joining in on the attack of my face.

I truly believed I was about to pass out from how much oxygen I was losing from sneezing when Hermione burst through my door with Harry in her wake.

Now this next bit may not be completely accurate. Forgive me for not remembering the exact dialogue of the conversation that followed their entrance, but I was a wee bit preoccupied at the time. But I believe it went a bit like this:

"Ginny? Ginny, where are you? What's going on? Ginny!"

Hermione sounded quite frantic. I imagine if I could have seen her at the time, her hair would have been practically radiating with electricity. Not that she's one to worry or anything, of course.

"I'm—hetchu!—under—heh-heh-htch!—here!"

I heard frantic footfalls rushing from the doorway to my bed and then suddenly, Harry's bright green eyes were peering at me from the small crack between my sheets and the floor. He lifted the sheet up and turned behind him to shout, "Hermione, she's over here!" and then shot his hand under the bed to attempt to swat the vicious dust bunnies from hell out of my face. He succeeded in nothing more, however, then making them even more furious and jumping even harder directly on top of my nose. Unfortunately for Harry, I'd turned my head to look at him when he pulled the sheets up to get a better look at my predicament and this time when I sneezed, it was directly into his face.

"Argh! Hermione, help me get these…things off her!"

"What are they?" I heard Hermione say. I managed to open my eyes long enough to see her kneel down next to Harry and stare at my body jerking forward repeatedly as I sneezed.

"Who—htch!—cares? Just—heh-htch!—get them off of me!"

"Oh, but I don't know how without magic!" Hermione groaned.

"Oh, forget it!" Harry said. He yanked his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at my face.

Can I just throw in how awkward it is to say that Harry put his wand in my face? Even I have to admit that sounds dirty.

"_Scourgify!_"

And I reiterate: My bloody hero.

**A/N: **I was a little iffy about the ending of this, but my beta, who is currently sitting next to me and yelling at my iPod, assures me that she definitely likes it and thinks that my readers will too.

Then again, I am providing her with food and shelter tonight, so she may be a little bit biased.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Review and tell me what you think. :) And also, I promise I will try as hard as I can to not take this long to update again.


End file.
